


The Wolfstrap

by CitizenWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Casual Sex, Knotting, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitizenWolf/pseuds/CitizenWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had taken a few years, but Stiles had managed to put some distance between himself and Beacon Hills. He should have known it wouldn't last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolfstrap

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is aged 17+ for any and all sexual situations throughout the story. Additional warnings will apply and will be listed by chapter. They will include violence and its after effects, marking, scenting, hurt/comfort, and people/werewolves being emotionally and physically messed up at times. Please note that if you're only interested in the hurt/comfort it may not always hit your kink dead on, as this story unexpectedly developed a plot on me. Oops?
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/7250.html?thread=6591314#t6591314) at the TW Kink Meme:
> 
>  
> 
> __**Derek/Stiles, extreme hurt/comfort**  
>  Future fic where Derek turns up severely injured, close to death even and not able to communicate, on Stiles' doorstep. Stiles takes care of him and maybe even unravels how this has happened since he last saw Derek. How can this even happen to a werewolf?

_Now_

When Robert finally walked out he left the door to their apartment wide open. 

Stiles reckoned he'd never know what Robert had taken as his due and what had been pilfered by opportunist neighbours, but it was all the same to him. It wasn't like he ever watched the TV these days anyway, but he was sad about the little pottery wolf that had ended up on the floor in two pieces. He could glue the tail back on, but the join was going to show.

He'd had worse break-ups. He'd had a _lot_ of break-ups; more than he'd ever imagine he'd have relationships back when he couldn't get a date to save his life. In some ways they were easier than the relationships. He had a tried and tested way to deal with situations like this: he would get drunk, he would get laid, and then... 

...then he'd do it all over again. He'd do it until it didn't hurt any more.

Stiles put the pieces of broken wolf in his jacket pocket. He didn't bother shutting the door behind him when he left.

 

_Then_

“I don't know why _I'm_ the only one who can take you on your little road trip when you have an entire pack to call on,” Stiles bitched, jamming his foot down harder than his baby deserved. 

The jeep lurched into the road, and if Stiles gained a certain amount of satisfaction from seeing Derek jerk against his seatbelt, that was between him and his somewhat tarnished conscience.

“My car's too conspicuous,” Derek said, “and you're the only one who can afford to skip classes.” 

Mostly true. But not quite. “Lydia can,” Stiles pointed out. He might even have let her take the jeep. 

Derek snorted. “I am _not_ asking Lydia.”

It might not have been a confession that Lydia scared the crap out of Derek just as much as she did everyone else, but Stiles decided to take it as one. It was as close as they were likely to get to a beautiful moment of bonding on this trip.

“Get some sleep,” Stiles said, because this was going to go a lot faster if Derek took a turn at driving later. Maybe around dawn; Stiles was in just the right mood for night driving. He could see Derek glower at his reflection in the darkened windows, but after a moment Derek shifted, and with a creak of leather he seemed to settle down enough that Stiles could believe he was dozing.

They switched when the road shone misty pink in the early light and Stiles had driven away some of his anger. He folded up his jacket and jammed it up against the window to avoid the bumps that didn't seem to bother Derek, and tried to sleep. It should have been easy; Stiles was bone tired, and Derek was a surprisingly steady driver when he wasn't being pursued by the law, psychotic hunters, or any of the other unfortunate obstacles to life as a werewolf that occasionally arose. 

It wasn't easy. Stiles thought he'd maybe managed a couple of hours overall before he took the wheel back from Derek, but he could feel Derek watching him while he drove, and he knew he was being frowned at disapprovingly even before Derek made an ill-advised grab at the wheel.

“Hey!” Stiles shouted, but Derek just turned them towards lights and a parking lot, and a flickering _Motel_ sign. Stiles flailed for the brake while Derek steered them effortlessly, his mouth set in a flat, determined line.

“We're ahead of schedule,” Derek said calmly, once Stiles had them safely parked. “We can't meet the Morgan pack's alpha until Wednesday, even if we get there sooner.”

It was a good point, even if Stiles objected to Derek's usual high-handed 'I'm the alpha and you will do as I say' tactics.

“Fine,” Stiles gritted out. “But you're paying.”

Which is why they ended up with one room. Thankfully there were two beds, because that would just have been awkward. While Derek brought their gear in, Stiles eyed the bar next door and what might have been a burger place behind it. 

“I'm gonna go get some food,” he said, though they had plenty of snacks and emergency supplies in the bag still. That's what happened when you stretched your legs and gas stations tempted you into spending money you didn't really have. 

Stiles ran his hand through his hair as we walked across the parking lot – it was still weird having an inch or two of hair instead of a buzz cut, not least because he kept forgetting to carry a comb around. He nodded to a couple of guys hanging around outside the front of the bar, but they weren't what he was looking for. He was still kind of new at this, but every extra mile distance between him and Beacon Hills felt like an opportunity that couldn't be ignored.

He bought a beer without anyone mentioning ID, and lurked at the bar, rolling it in his hands. He let his eyes take in the room while he tipped it up and swallowed a mouthful; yeah, there were a couple of possibilities. The fair-haired guy at the back was still looking the next time Stiles's glance passed over him, and Stiles paused just long enough for the guy to raise his beer to match him.

He wished he'd checked out the back of the bar before going in, because it was dark, but that didn't mean there would be a good place to do anything out there. The fair-haired guy solved the problem by heading for the back door, brushing lightly against Stiles on his way even though there was plenty of room to pass him by.

Stiles took another swig from his bottle for courage, and followed at a discreet distance.

It was perfect out back; a dark maze of wooden fencing dividing up the yard and only the on-off red and blue lights from the Happy Burger showing him the way through. He found the fair-haired guy leaning up against the back wall, cock already in his hand. 

Stiles appreciated that. It was always nice to know this wasn't the occasion when you were going to get beaten up by some psycho in a dark alley. He slid his hands around the guy's hips and his mouth down his cock in one easy move, his knees landing on something squishy that he preferred not to think about for now. He smelled of sweat and beer, not soap like Andrew always had-- but Stiles wasn't going to think about Andrew now, or ever again if he could help it.

It was hard not to when he was doing this, that was the problem. If Stiles changed things up from how he used to suck his one and only boyfriend so far, would it be okay? The last thing he wanted to do was betray his inexperience when he was trying to be cool about picking up guys.

Stiles tried a tight, wet suction around just the head, and the guy moaned in a way that seemed positive, so he did it again. He tightened his grip around the base of the guy's cock, loosened it again and began to move in sync with his mouth, and barely had the presence of mind not to whoop at his success when the guy pushed him off and groaned out, “Fuck, I'm gonna--”

“Here,” Stiles said, and scrambled to push up his t-shirt. “Come on me.” It was warm, and sticky, and he was going to hate picking it off his handful of chest hairs later, but not enough to stop him wanting it. As a bonus, it was probably going to drive Derek _crazy_ , just like it did Scott, but that wasn't his problem.

It barely took a touch after that before Stiles closed his eyes and came all over the guy's hand.

 

Stiles had his key in the door before he remembered he hadn't picked up any food. Derek was going to notice, but really? Screw Der--

The door opened without any effort from him, and Stiles was inside with his back against it and a large, pissed off werewolf at his throat quicker than he could finish the thought.

\--rek.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Derek growled into his ear, because Stiles's face was busy trying to crush itself into the door. “We could have been followed, this could have been a _trap_." One of Derek's large hands pinned Stiles's wrists above his head, while his other hand--

“Oh my god, stop that,” Stiles shouted, but it was too late to save his t-shirt from Derek's claws. He heard it tear, and fuck, he liked this one. 

“Human,” Derek said, inhaling deeply, but his mouth was still too full of teeth for Stiles to relax. 

“I _know_ ,” Stiles said, “I can spot it almost as quickly as you guys can now, don't you know that?”

“No, I don't.” But Derek's grip loosened, and he stepped back. The red glow in his eyes had dimmed a little, Stiles noticed. He gave an experimental twist of his shoulders. Ow. “You're not a wolf, Stiles.”

“I'm an honorary wolf though, right?” Scott had said so. Isaac had said so. Fucking Andrew had said so, but it hadn't been a compliment that time.

“No.” 

Stiles threw up his hands. “Then I have no idea what I'm even doing here.”

“You're helping me show the Morgan pack that we have humans working with us,” Derek said. “You're sharing the driving, and you're helping us get there with less chance of being spotted by taking your car.”

That might be the most straightforward answer Stiles had ever heard from Derek. He would have been pleased, but he knew Derek too well. It just meant there was a hell of a lot more to it that he wasn't saying.

“You're also,” Derek added, crowding Stiles against the door again, “really trying my patience, Stiles.”

“I'm-- what?” Derek's eyes were glowing again, and Stiles could feel the heat of his body against his chest, where his come-streaked skin was still on display.

“You've been doing this for weeks,” Derek said, scratching a claw lazily over the flaky patches on Stiles's chest. “Coming around smelling like sex, like desperation, like a different guy every night. Scott doesn't know what to do with you. He doesn't know what you want. But I do.”

“I don't want—” Stiles croaked, because Derek's body was pressed right up against him now, and it didn't seem to matter that he'd only just come, because he could feel himself getting hard again where Derek's thigh nudged against his groin. He could feel his heart rate picking up, and speaking suddenly felt like hard work. “I don't want anything.”

“You're lying,” Derek breathed, right in his face, giving Stiles nowhere to hide. 

“I, I--” he stuttered, but Derek hadn't finished.

“I wasn't sure who it was you wanted,” he said, and Stiles's heart beat even faster. “I thought it might have been Scott. You've been flaunting all those scents at him, but me, not so much.” He nuzzled his face into Stiles's neck and breathed deeply, humming with satisfaction at whatever he learned from it. “I don't see you every day, and you've been _very_ dedicated to your schedule.”

“That's me, always thorough,” Stiles gasped out. Maybe if he could keep talking, Derek would stop, lose track, not follow through to the inevitable conclusion. 

Yeah, right. Because Derek was so good at letting things go.

“But I know now,” Derek said, as if Stiles hadn't even spoken. “It's not Scott you want to notice you, because Scott's not here, is he? It's me.”

“That's, that's--” Not true, Stiles wanted to say, but the lie tasted like ash in his mouth already, and he was choking on it. 

“You want me to fuck you, Stiles?” Derek growled into his ear, and Stiles couldn't help but twist against him, rock his hips up into the solid press of Derek's heat. “Is that what you need?”

Derek didn't need to ask, Stiles knew that, even dizzy with want, light-headed from the rush of blood south, the musky scent of Derek surrounding him. He knew that Stiles would let him do anything right now, would like nothing more than for Derek to take him, use him, mark him, cover him in his scent. That the come clinging stubbornly to his skin was a challenge, a dare, even if Stiles hadn't consciously thought of it that way. 

“Say it, Stiles,” Derek repeated, and Stiles groaned. “Tell me you want it, want my scent all over you. Inside you.”

Derek was killing him, and Stiles was going to come any second before Derek could do _any_ of that, before he could even make his mouth ask for any of it, all of it.

“My mouth on your neck, my teeth marking you,” Derek said, sucking a bruise into Stiles's collarbone. “My cock filling you up.” He glanced up at Stiles's face, and his mouth curved into a knowing grin. “My _knot_ ,” he said, and that-- that was _it_.

“Yes,” Stiles hissed, and he lunged for Derek's mouth. They didn't so much kiss as exchange bites, but he didn't care, it was no more fucked up than any of the rest of it. And it was pretty fucked up, losing it over the thought of Derek rutting into him like an animal, at the thought of being tied with him, fucked and filled and drenched in Derek's come from the inside--

His jeans were going to join his t-shirt in the never fit to wear again pile, but he didn't care. Derek's clothes didn't fare much better, and Stiles had a moment of panic when he was sprawled face down on the bed and Derek's hands landed on his ass, but the fingers that pushed inside him were human, and thank god for small – no, for really, really large – mercies. 

The fingers weren't really enough prep for what followed, because oh god, Derek was bigger than Stiles had imagined. It only took a few thrusts from Derek to ease the way a little, though; Stiles could feel how hot and leaking he was as soon as Derek's cock touched him, and there was a dark satisfaction in knowing how much Derek wanted this as well. 

“Stiles,” Derek panted into his neck, and even though his breath was hot Stiles shivered all the way down to his toes. “I need to-- before it gets any bigger--”

“Yeah,” Stiles gasped out. “Yeah.” He squeezed his fingers in the bedding as tightly as he could, half expecting them to sprout claws too, and braced himself as Derek pulled up his hips easily, manhandled his body, unresisting, into the shape he wanted, and shoved inside him so deeply that Stiles cried out, feeling something new force its way inside, and oh _god_ the knot was still growing, expanding inside him and pressing against his muscles from the inside, oh god, oh god, oh god.

Derek moved more slowly now, but every tiny movement sent sparks through Stiles's nerve endings, made his cock leak and drip onto the bed sheets, made him moan and strain to arch his back, offer his ass up still more to the man, half man -- whatever he was – that had taken possession of him. Later, tomorrow even, he'd gather up what was left of his one hundred percent human dignity along with his ruined clothes and summon up some snark, something witty to ward off whatever Derek was going to taunt him with after this, but right now he was going to have this, he was going to take this. He was going to revel in the slick slide of the thick come filling him, thrust by thrust. He was going to enjoy the feeling of being taken, claimed, owned, even if it was only temporary, the result of a challenge to Derek's all too easily-provoked alpha nature. 

He was going to take the orgasm that tore through him, rough and ragged. Maybe it would wipe away the last few months, the souring of what had seemed to be the perfect relationship. His eyes watered a little, probably just a reaction to the pain, he thought, as Derek folded them up to lie together on the bed, holding him close with one strong arm.

He fell asleep with Derek still inside him, and woke to find a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt being shoved into his arms.

“Get showered and get dressed,” Derek ordered, his usual scowl back in place. “We leave in an hour.”

He slammed the door behind him, and Stiles dropped his face back into the pillow. Oh, _fuck_.

 

_Now_

Stiles didn't usually stay out so late, but it had been one hell of a day, and he wasn't looking forward to going home to the empty flat. He hoped he wouldn't regret his impulse to leave the door open, because it occurred to him now that there worse things that could happen than someone stealing his somewhat crappy electrical appliances. Vandalism, or someone hiding in there and creeping out to murder him in the middle of the night, or--

So he'd check under the bed and in the closet. He shrugged. A few beers and a handjob in the bathroom of his favourite bar wasn't going to solve any of his problems long term, but they'd gone a long way to making him feel better tonight. He had enough money to last the week, a roof over his head, even if it didn't contain a television any more, and -- he slowed as he reached the front steps of the apartment building – apparently he also had a body on his hands.

“Hey,” Stiles said, crouching down next to the ragged figure. It was curled into a ball, and Stiles could see scar tissue, and wasted muscles in the arm hanging down the steps. “Are you okay, can I--” He put two fingers against the man's neck, and there was a pulse, faint but present. 

“I'll call 911,” Stiles said, and fumbled for his phone, but the sound the man made, more a whine than anything, made him stop. He pushed aside the long, dirty hair over his face, and ran a finger over the man's lips. He sighed with relief at first, feeling nothing out of the ordinary on one side, but then his fingertip brushed something too long to be a normal human tooth, and he swore under his breath. A partial shift in a werewolf this badly injured? This was... this was not good.

“Plan B,” he muttered to himself, and tested the man's weight. He thought it was just about manageable, so he skidded down the steps and hauled the thin body onto his shoulders. It was horrible, handling an almost completely limp body, and if he had been any heavier Stiles didn't think he could have managed it alone. As it was, he was exhausted by the time he'd negotiated the front door and the stairs, and was depositing the body on the couch that had obviously been too large for anyone to take at short notice.

He ran to get some water, and a second glass with sugar and salt stirred into it, which might be enough to start bringing the man round. 

If his day had been bad so far, lifting up the man's head to try to get some liquid down him might just have turned it into the worst day of his life.

Stiles stared, trying to reconcile the slack face, the broken and missing fangs, the scars and the emaciated body with the werewolf who had been the strongest and most stubborn he had ever known.

“Derek?” he whispered, and the glass of water tumbled to the floor.


End file.
